


Soothsayer's Recompense

by a_t_rain



Category: Piazze d'Italia - Giorgio de Chirico
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:38:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5702041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_t_rain/pseuds/a_t_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The statue awakens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soothsayer's Recompense

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in an old notebook. Apparently I wrote it in 1996. I think I was trying to do some sort of stream-of-consciousness surrealist-game writing, and decided that [The Soothsayer's Recompense](http://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/51288.html) would be a good painting to meditate on. Anyway, I had forgotten all about it, but when I discovered there was an _actual fandom_ for de Chirico, I remembered that it existed and figured I might as well dig it out. Forgive me if it's a little pretentious. Hey, I was nineteen.

It's night, when the dead walk. The statue is writhing under its grave-wrappings, a mass of shifting whiteness, like the foam on the ocean in the wake of some volcanic upheaval as a formerly dormant island rises. Or like lace curtains, the only living things left in the room after the girl elopes.

The statue sits up and considers the dead world. The smoke from the train has already turned cold and stiff. Nothing can be read in it. The statue is not surprised.

He -- or is it a she? -- has not been asleep for long. The two palm trees and the plaza have always been there, always the same in form if not exact identity. The shadows seem a little skewed; they have been frozen for a quarter of an hour, no longer. When the statue fell asleep, a different star marked the North Pole. Other than that, things have not changed much.

The light from Polaris, like all light, is deceptive. Some of the stars we see tonight went supernova in the days of Sir Francis Drake, but the explosion has not yet reached our telescopes. Telescopes are no less gullible than the eye, as are binoculars, electron microscopes, magnetic compasses, and secret decoders from cereal boxes. We all believe what these things tell us, not realizing that technology is easily fooled.

The statue believes none of this. It also realizes that everything you see through the arch is not real. Remember the palm trees? They're an illusion. If you saw them in a desert, when your guard is up, you would not hesitate to say _mirage_. Will you let a little architecture fool you?

The statue stretches and walks to the edge of the desert: a simple journey of a minute or so. The horizon swallows the train. The statue looks over the edge: nothing there. The clouds of smoke turn into fossils, to be chipped apart and placed in museums by the curious. (Not necessarily the Philadelphia Museum of Art, but after closing time all museums seem alike. Sleep is a great equalizer.) The statue turns around and walks back.

There is nothing anywhere, in particular: earth and sky are dry and solid. Only marble recreates the forgotten feel of flesh. The statue settles down to dream the truth that civilization has passed by.


End file.
